


Dad AF

by JustAGirl24



Series: Paintball [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fanny Pack, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 17:32:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7943134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAGirl24/pseuds/JustAGirl24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaime is turning dad af.</p><p>Brienne is concerned that she isn't more concerned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dad AF

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justme (silver_spring)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_spring/gifts).



> Because she inspired the title. :D
> 
> This all started from a fun little convo in chat that I observed regarding dad stuff, and well...
> 
> Yeah.

It started when Jaime bought the hat.

Or The Hat, as Brienne now thought of it.

It was a ridiculous black-and-gray patterned fedora, and it was just a smidge too small for his head. He came home wearing it, green eyes sparkling, very pleased with his recent purchase. He looked like an idiot and she told him so. It didn’t stop her from wanting him for even a moment, though, and she dragged him to their bedroom, blushing the whole way. He’d been so proud in the days after, bragging about how hot he looked in his hat.

He’d been wearing The Hat almost every day since then, even to paintball, where he’d proudly unzipped his camouflage pants, turning them into camouflage shorts. To her dismay, Brienne was beginning to find The Hat charming—sexy, even—and had gone so far as to browse the internet to find more hats to buy him. Was there such a thing as a hat fetish? She considered asking her doctor about a mental health evaluation at her next appointment.

She was at work a few days later when Jaime sent her a text message reading, _Hey wench, why didn’t the skeleton cross the road?_ Before Brienne could think of a response, her phone dinged again. _It didn’t have the guts, Brienne! It didn’t have the guts!_

 _Ugh, no,_ she texted him back.

 _YES,_ came his swift response. _Wench, how many tickles does it take to make an octopus laugh? Ten tickles. TENTACLES._

_STOP, Jaime._

_Never!_ he responded a few minutes later. Brienne groaned. _Hey Brienne, what's the best time to go to the dentist?_ Brienne was confused until a new message appeared. _2:30._ _TOOTH HURTY, WENCH!_

More stupid jokes followed, no matter how many times she told him to stop. She even found herself stifling a laugh from time to time. _Gods_ , she hated him sometimes.

It escalated a few weeks later, when she pulled into their driveway to find Jaime mowing the yard. That wasn’t unusual, but as her gaze ran over his sweaty t-shirt and cargo shorts, then lower, she noticed he was wearing grass-stained white tube socks pulled all the way up his calves paired with ugly, thick, leather sandals.

Jaime cut the engine, jogging over to where she was standing.

“What are those?” she asked when he was close enough to hear, unable to stop staring at his feet.

He grinned, wiggling one foot in the air before coming closer and wrapping his arms around her thick waist. “Birkenstocks,” he murmured against her lips before kissing her senseless. “Also, your tits look amazing,” he said as he pulled away, letting his gaze drop with a smirk, leaving Brienne gaping as he jogged back to the mower.

It was a truly heroic effort to wait inside while he finished mowing the lawn and blowing the grass off the sidewalk, and then _edging_ the sidewalk, instead of demanding that he finish what he’d started with that kiss _right now._ Well…he made it up to her, at least.

But the final straw came a few days later, when Jaime had taken her out to dinner wearing tan, pleated chinos. And a plaid shirt with a cardigan.  And a _fanny pack._ He pouted when Brienne made him leave it in the car.

Later, when they got back home, Brienne could barely wait until they crossed the threshold before tearing off his clothes. They didn’t even make it to the bedroom. Brienne perched on the edge of the kitchen table, her pants hanging from one ankle as Jaime thrust inside her. She was chanting his name as each orgasm blurred into the next, until the chanting turned to shrieks and moans. He’d been unbearably smug afterwards, panting into her neck, muttering that he’d _known_ she liked the fanny pack.

She couldn’t bear to admit that it might be growing on her after all, though she knew that probably had more to do with the mind-blowing sex.

Now here she was, sitting across from Margaery at their favorite café, sipping her decaffeinated tea as she told the tale. Marg was looking her over critically. “Well, I mean, Jaime’s right—your tits really _do_ look great,” she told Brienne with a smirk.

Brienne felt her face heat up, arms crossing over her chest automatically. _“Margaery!”_ she hissed, glancing around furtively, wondering if anyone had overheard.

Margaery sniggered, obviously enjoying Brienne’s discomfort, then neatly switched back to the original topic. “Basically, Jaime’s turning dad as fuck?” she asked, taking a long sip of her mocha. “Has he started wearing a ratty old bathrobe? House slippers?”

Brienne groaned, letting her head fall to her hands. "Not a bathrobe. An old flowered housecoat he found hidden in the back of my closet. And the worst part is, he's  _still_  stupidly gorgeous," she moaned. "It's not fair."

Margaery clicked her tongue sympathetically. "It's really not. I hate him a little bit myself." She took another sip of her mocha. "On the bright side, it'll probably be years before he succumbs to dad bod."

Brienne gazed mournfully down at her rounded abdomen, no longer defined as it had been just a few months ago. "I'd probably feel better if he did," she muttered. "I feel like I'm going to burst out of my maternity clothes, they're so tight." _And still two months to go._

Margaery fell into another fit of laughter. "Because of your amazing tits?" she asked between giggles.

Brienne glared at her friend before finally heaving a sigh of defeat. "Yes," she said, scowling into her tea. They got in her way constantly. She’d long since given up on aiming even passably well with her paintball rifle.

“Well then, you need some new clothes!” Margaery said brightly.

Brienne groaned. She knew Margaery too well—no way was she getting out of this without a shopping trip now. _Ugh._

Hours later—after several strangers asking whether she was having twins, a store employee who’d assumed she and Marg were ‘together,’ and another woman who’d even tried to grab her stomach without so much as a ‘hello,’ not to mention the time she’d spent wandering the men’s section looking at cardigans and ascots—Brienne was finally home. She kicked the door shut and flung her shopping bags to the floor, beyond caring about them. She was pretty sure at least one of those thrice-damned shirts had been a circus tent in a past life.

She was so glad to be home. Her ankles were swollen, her back hurt, and Junior had had the hiccups for the past hour. Brienne rubbed her belly soothingly with one hand, the other digging into her lower back to ease the knots there.

Brienne walked towards the bedroom, but stopped when she noticed the light was on in the empty nursery. She peeked in—only to find Jaime sitting on the floor, wearing a tatty white shirt with holes in the sides along with his convertible cargo shorts. A holey beanie covered most of his golden hair, and she noticed the dark brown socks he had pulled almost to his knees. The nursery was no longer empty, a discarded box propped in one corner along with a pile of empty plastic bags, and Jaime was tightening the last few screws on the crib.

Tears welled in her eyes, a lump forming in her throat— _Gods,_ she was crying again, she couldn’t even help it! It was so sweet. She sniffled, and Jaime craned his neck around to look up at her, grinning proudly.

“You’re home!” he said, getting to his feet and ignoring her humiliating blubbering. His gaze fell to her breasts. “Have I told you lately how amazing those look?”

Brienne gave a surprised chuckle and felt her tears recede. “Only every day. You have been ridiculously obsessed with my…b-breasts,” she stuttered out, trying to sound scolding, but she suspected her burning face ruined the effect somehow. Besides, it wasn’t as if she truly minded.

Jaime nodded, mock solemn. “Absolutely,” he agreed, gesturing at her abdomen, “and I have Helenys to thank for them.”

 “Jaime, we are _not_ naming her Helenys,” Brienne groaned.

“Aww, come on, old names are coming back, wench,” he grinned teasingly. “Dorna?” he suggested. “Leonette?”

Brienne shot him a withering look. “You don’t like any of those names, either, you’re just trying to wind me up. You’re turning into _such_ a sitcom dad,” she said, a little accusingly.

Jaime seemed to think about it for a moment and then shrugged, grinning suggestively. “A _hot_ sitcom dad. I can’t wait to embarrass little Ermesande at every opportunity.”

Brienne sighed. _Ermesande?_ “Trust me, you will.” She thought of her own father, the collection of beanies he favored, the high-waisted twill pants and Hawaiian-print shirts, the socks he insisted on wearing with his sandals… _Oh gods, I really did marry my father,_ she realized, resignation setting in _._ “In ways you can’t even imagine yet.”

Jaime laughed, curving his fingers around Brienne’s hips and pulling her close, her belly bumping against him. “I can imagine some other things to embarrass you,” he murmured against her lips.

“Can you?” she asked breathlessly.

Jaime chuckled. “I could show you if you like.” He let his gaze roam over her thick lips, lingering on the swell of her breasts, before lowering even further. He licked his lips, letting her know _exactly_ what he could show her.

Well. Now that Brienne thought about it, her back didn’t hurt that badly, after all. “Lead the way.”


End file.
